Every Second Counts

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “No worries. There aren’t many of us. Eleanor mostly kept to herself.”

  Bridgette grabbed a handful of invitations from the stack of paperwork on the table and handed them to her. “Please, give one of these to anyone else who would like to come.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Trudy patted her hand. “Marci’s so lucky to have such good friends. She’ll realize one day that she’s not as alone as she thinks.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “She fainted? Skyler fainted?”

  Tory laughed. “She is human, you know.”

  Ryder and Tory stood outside the nursery, scanning the rows of bassinets for the one marked Parker-Reese. It had been a long, tense night, with the baby finally arriving around six that morning.

  “They weren’t expecting to do a C-section,” Tory said. “Dr. Nichols said Sky hit the floor like a load of bricks when they cut Jess open. They managed to get her on her feet to see the baby before they took Jess to recovery, but Skyler was too shaky to hold her.”

  “Hey, there she is now.”

  A door opened opposite from the windows where they stood, and a nurse led Skyler to a bassinet on the back row and showed her how to properly hold little Leigh Parker-Reese—named after Jessica’s grandmother, the Parker matriarch. The nurse pointed to a rocking chair in the corner and Skyler took a seat, her gaze on the small figure swaddled in her arms.

  They saw her wipe away a tear and grin when the nurse said something to her.

  “Is she crying? I can’t believe she’s crying.”

  “I can’t imagine what she must be feeling,” Tory said softly.

  “She’s different,” Ryder said, struggling to put words to her tangled emotions.

  “I hope so.” Tory slid her arm over Ryder’s shoulders. “When you fall in love, it changes you. It changes everything.”

  “Not gonna happen to me,” she said, frowning at Skyler brushing the tip of her finger along the baby’s cheek. “I can’t see me doing that.”

  “You don’t know what you’re capable of until you meet the right person.”

  She should feel happy for her friends. Instead, she felt like she was watching them board a train going someplace new and she didn’t have a ticket. Was Tory going, too?

  “So, you gonna knock Leah up?”

  Tory laughed again and grabbed her by the back of the neck to shake her. “Don’t you dare say ‘knocked up’ in front of Leah.”

  Tory released her and they watched Skyler rock the baby.

  “Leah and I haven’t talked about it. I grew up with two brothers and kind of enjoy the peace and quiet of just the two of us. But if she decides she wants to have children, I’m okay with that.”

  “Not me. I’m not relationship material. I can’t even keep a house plant alive.”

  Tory looked at her. “I thought you and Bridgette might have something going.”

  “No. We don’t.” Her throat worked around the words that choked her. “And I have to get back to Dallas. My agent e-mailed. If I can get the rodeo to clear me to compete, I still have time to qualify for the nationals.”

  “I thought you’d be here another month or so.”

  “I’m already packed and flying out tonight. In fact, I need to leave if I’m going to catch a plane out of Richmond in four hours.”

  Tory scowled. “Were you even going to say good-bye?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not really good with that. Tell Sky and Jess thanks for everything. I’ll e-mail them when I get back to Dallas.”

  Tory stared at her, then pulled her into a tight hug. “You’ve got family here, little sister, whether you think so or not,” Tory whispered in her ear. “And if you don’t show up here for Christmas, Skyler and I are flying out and hauling your ass back here. You understand? Don’t leave and stay gone for so long again.”

  “Yeah, I hear you.”

  She did understand, but she wasn’t leaving them. They’d already left her. Her friends had grown up and settled down. They’d changed and she hadn’t. She was still and always would be the one left behind.

  *

  The glass of wine before her sat untouched as Bridgette settled onto a large square pillow and relaxed into a lotus position. She concentrated on the trickle of the stream below the balcony where she worked to empty her thoughts.

  Her focus gradually switched from the sounds of the water to the thump of her own heartbeat, and it slowed to the point she could almost hear the squish of her blood flowing in and out with every contraction of the thick muscle. Her mind became a blank, black slate as she mentally floated.

  Then the beat of her heart developed an odd, faint echo. It didn’t feel threatening. It felt comforting, as though she wasn’t alone in her void. Curious, she reached deeper—deep enough to touch the place she had walled off long ago. The terror that usually met her there was absent, and she cautiously opened the mental door.

  Stephan poured out.

  This time, she didn’t have memories of blood and bulls but happy memories of childhood, running and laughing together. He beckoned and she followed. A hot wind lifted her hair and danced among the strands like a caress. He lifted his hands to the sky and she saw the storm clouds, dark and turbulent, roiling with sheet lightning.

  She stared up at the storm and realized it was familiar. The abstract. She was looking at the painting in the small upstairs studio. This wasn’t her storm, so she didn’t have any reason to shrink from it. Still, it did frighten her, just in a different way.

  She could hear the old monk’s voice. Control your fear and it can keep you safe. Unleash your fear and, like a fierce tiger, it will hunt and cripple you.

  Before she could consider this, a tap-tap at her consciousness drew her from her meditation. As she surfaced, she realized the tapping came from raindrops, cold and wet, falling on her face and arms. The Indian-summer shower gained momentum and she lifted her face to let the downpour wash over her.

  Her laughter bubbled up. She had let herself feel Stephan and she didn’t hurt. She felt lighter, almost weightless. She had stood in the dark storm that was Ryder’s torment and found her own had calmed. She grabbed her wineglass and pillow to dash back into the loft.

  She didn’t hesitate, fitting the crowbar under the wood and prying the crate open. She lifted them out, one by one, until all six paintings were propped against the wall. They were her storm—bitter, tormented evidence of her grief.

  She sank to the floor, tears mingling now with the raindrops that lingered on her skin. This time, they weren’t tears of loss but tears of relief. The pain that tore at her was gone. She realized at last that Stephan’s death was not about hurting her. He had jumped in front of those charging bulls for his own reasons. Reasons she would never understand, but then they weren’t hers to own.

  She did know Ryder’s reasons. The paintings in that child’s studio were as clear as a storybook. If only she could get Ryder to see that she must face her tiger, too.

  What I don’t understand is why it matters to you.

  She wasn’t ready to answer Ryder’s question, not even for herself. But she did need to see Ryder. One tiger at a time.

  *

  “Come on in.” Skyler waved for Bridgette to follow her. “Jess just finished feeding the baby. We’re hanging out in the den.”

  “I don’t mean to intrude. I was looking for Marc. Is she here?”

  “Ryder? She skipped out on us a few days ago. I’m going to kick her butt when I see her again for not saying a proper good-bye.”

  “She’s returned to Dallas?”

  “Yeah. She told Tory that her agent e-mailed. Apparently he’s anxious to get her back to work before the buzz dies down over the article Leah wrote.”

  Bridgette stopped. “And you let her go? She just suffered a concussion.”

  Skyler narrowed her eyes. “Nobody lets Ryder do anything. She does what she wants. Always has.” She started down the hall again. “Come say hey to Jess and your future art student.” />
  Jessica was propped up on the sofa and lifted her feet when Skyler returned so she could slide in under her legs to sit close enough to touch the baby sleeping in her arms.

  “Jess, she’s precious. What a head of hair!”

  Jessica smiled up at her. “She’s got Skyler’s thick, blond hair.”

  “And Jess’s blue eyes,” Skyler said.

  “Honey, you know that can change in the next few weeks.”

  “Nope. Leigh and I talked about this. She agrees that her eyes should stay blue.”

  Jessica shook her head. “I’m sorry, we’re kind of sappy about the whole baby thing.”

  Bridgette laughed and sat in the chair adjacent to Jessica, distracted from thinking about Ryder for the moment. “I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be ready to shove her off on our friends to babysit by the time she hits the terrible twos,” Skyler said.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Do you want to hold her?”

  “I do, but I don’t want to wake her. I just stopped by for a minute.” She sat back, then forward again to extract the rattle toy that was poking her in the back. “I came to see Marc, but Skyler said she’s gone back to Dallas.”

  Skyler and Jessica shared a look she couldn’t decipher. What had Ryder told them about their—she wasn’t sure herself what to call it—encounters? Did they blame her for Ryder’s abrupt departure? She really didn’t feel like explaining what had happened between them. She wasn’t sure she could.

  “We found some additional artwork in her grandmother’s house, and I need to speak with her about it. I’m sure she’ll want to keep it.” It wasn’t really a lie. “But I guess I’m too late.”

  Jessica seemed to consider her words before she shifted the baby into Skyler’s arms and swung her feet to the floor. “I have her contact information in the office. I’ll get it for you.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble. I’m sure her lawyer can get in touch with her.”

  “It’s no trouble,” Jessica said as she stood. “I need a bathroom break anyway.”

  Skyler smiled down at the baby, who had opened her eyes and was curling her small hand around Skyler’s finger. “Hey, you. Do you want to meet your Aunt Bridgette?” She looked up. “Come sit over here if you want to hold her. If you don’t, that’s okay. Not everybody’s into babies.”

  “I’d love to.” She moved to the sofa and Skyler gently placed the baby in her arms. “Hello, little Leigh,” she cooed. “I’m your Aunt Bridgette and, when you’re old enough, I’m going to teach you how to finger-paint and draw and make the prettiest pictures for your moms.”

  Unable to keep her hands away, Skyler offered her finger again and Leigh immediately wrapped her tiny hand around it.

  “I would have never imagined this—having a family of my own and being who I am today,” Skyler said, more to herself than anyone listening. “I guess finding Jess helped me believe I could be something more, something better.” Skyler looked at her. “Some of the kids in the Young Equestrian Program have really troubled home situations, so I’m taking some online classes in child psychology. I’d have never thought about doing that before.”

  “That’s wonderful, Sky.” She wondered if Ryder could ever see her future differently.

  “Here you go.”

  She handed the baby back to Skyler and stood to take the paper Jessica offered. “Thanks. I hate to run, but I’ve got to prepare an exam for my art-history class.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Jessica said, trailing after her.

  She paused in the sunlight that dappled the wide porch. “Will I see you two at the auction?”

  “You’ll probably see three of us. The grandmas are here, upstairs napping. They still haven’t adjusted to our time zone. I’m sure Kate and Mom will want to check out the auction. I have a feeling Skyler will insist on staying home with the baby, so I’ll probably come with them. I may want to bid on something.”

  “Good. I’ll look forward to meeting them.”

  She could tell Jessica wanted to say more, so she waited.

  “There’s a lot more to Ryder than she lets most people see,” Jessica said softly. “I wasn’t sure I’d like the cocky flirt that showed up here six weeks ago. But we became pretty good friends while she was here, and I realized that under all that bravado is a real sweetheart.”

  “Jess—” Her heart already knew this, but the bravado that made Ryder take stupid risks was a hurdle Bridgette still couldn’t get past. It was a shield she wasn’t sure Ryder could let go.

  “Whatever’s between you two is none of my business, but if you talk to her, tell her I miss my workout buddy.”

  Bridgette nodded. She missed Ryder, too. Fiercely. “I will.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Ryder left all thoughts of Bridgette and Cherokee Falls at her Dallas condo when she drove to the rodeo arena. She couldn’t have anything but the beast and the ride on her mind for the next eight-or-so hours.

  The men were provided a locker room where they traded jokes and information about the rides they had drawn as they prepared for their event. She wasn’t exactly welcomed there, and after a few such facilities offered only open showers and dressing areas, she took advantage of her inherited wealth and had an RV customized for her own personal dressing room that she could drive and park at any rodeo event.

  Even with the RV, she was glad the Texas Stampede was the last big event before the nationals. Held on the outskirts of Dallas, it meant she could park her dressing room at the arena grounds and still drive her car home to sleep in her own bed each night.

  Being at her best was critical this week. Only the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association’s top fifteen money-winners for the year would be invited to the National Finals Rodeo in Vegas, and the other competitors had been racking up winnings while she was recuperating. She’d had a spectacular year leading up to her injury, but she would need to place well this week to stay in the top fifteen.

  Bareback bronc riding today, bull riding on Saturday. She competed in only the two events.

  The hours-long ritual to transform into a rodeo gladiator began with a long hot shower and thorough shave, arms and legs. Next came fifteen minutes of stretching while she mentally evaluated every muscle in her legs, groin, arms, shoulders, and back. She felt good.

  By the tail end of the rodeo season, the riders were all sore and beat-up from weekend after weekend of grueling competition. But Ryder’s few months off had given her shoulder and back muscles time to recuperate, while her gym workouts had maintained her strength.

  She tugged on thigh-length compression shorts but no bra, because she wrapped her torso in a wide Ace bandage from waist to armpit to support her back muscles.

  She used to pay a sports trainer to tape her, but once she learned the process, she preferred solitude as she also mentally prepared for the ride. She began with her knees, applying liquid adhesive, winding the thin pre-wrap from shin to thigh, then topping it with strong, white adhesive tape.

  She taped her right wrist and hand that would grip the rigging, then taped custom-molded plastic guards to her left shin and her left forearm, where metal plates were screwed into the bones. A tight, long-sleeved compression shirt went on top to support the tendons and ligaments of her shoulders.

  Then she dressed. Wrangler jeans, a colorful Western shirt adorned with the logos of her sponsors, worn Tony Lama boots, and wide bat-wing chaps. The clothing covered all clues of her first ninety minutes of preparation. Only the tape on her hand peeked out of her sleeve, and a thick glove would cover that before she broke from the gate.

  After another fifteen minutes of stretching, she dropped her bareback rigging onto the floor and plopped down to straddle the handle. For the next twenty minutes, she repeatedly stretched her legs forward and pulled them back—heels to ass—as she rode the horse in her head.

  She was ready. Now came the hated waiting.

  She paused briefly to sign a
few autographs, but talked little as she headed across the parking lot to the arena. Her mind was on the ride.

  She walked the long tunnel that wrapped around the lower level of the indoor facility, crowded now with competitors, judges, roadies, and equipment that were the trappings of the event. The announcer’s voice was piped into the tunnel, keeping everyone advised of how the schedule was progressing. She was happy to hear that barrel racing was already wrapping up.

  The first broncs were being led into the staging area. These were not wild animals. Most were as docile as puppies until a rider dropped onto their back and the bucking strap pulled snug around their bellies.

  Ryder coughed the arena dust from her lungs and dropped her equipment bag to complete the last of her ritual. She was fourth up for her first of three rides, so she wouldn’t have to wait long. Still, she always saved a few tasks to occupy her in the dead time before she could climb into the chute.

  She strapped on her lucky spurs, carefully dulled and free-spinning to meet regulations that prevented harm to the animal’s hide. Next, she wound a long leather thong tight under the arch and around the outside of each boot shaft several times and tied it off to prevent the boots from slipping off as she spurred during the ride.

  She was pleased she had drawn Red River Skoal, a top gelding who would certainly be selected for the nationals. He was alert today, ears flicking forward and back as she talked to him in a low voice. She liked to rig her ride herself and chuckled as Skoal shook his entire body like a wet dog when she cinched up the latigo straps of soft cotton girth. He was feeling good, and that meant a good buck and a top score.

  While a roadie led the horse to the chute, she slipped on a protective vest with a stiff foam roll in the collar to protect her neck from whiplash and settled her Stetson low over her brow. She’d probably lose it during the ride, but a real cowboy never broke the gate hatless.

  The crowd roared, but she didn’t look up as she climbed over the railing of the chute and carefully lowered herself onto the horse’s back. She didn’t care how the guy before her was doing or if the leaderboard had changed. She didn’t have anything in her mind now but Red River Skoal and the ride.